Musings - Part 3

How Infertility Prepared Me for Parenthood :: Monday Musing

May 12, 2014 By: babyproofedparents2 Comments

It took me a long time to get pregnant. Approximately four years, from the time I first thought, Hmmm. I might be ready for a baby, to the morning I saw those two pink lines miraculously show up on the pregnancy test.

It was a journey that began gradually and naively for my husband and me; I simply tossed the rectangular box of tiny white pills in the trash one day and confidently waited for my body to do its thing. As the months and years passed, and no pregnancy appeared, my yearning grew stronger. I consulted with acupuncturists, fertility specialists and the most vociferous expert of all, The Internet. In the end, I can’t really tell you the exact combination of diet changes and fertility magic that caused us to conceive a child. What I can say is that those four years of infertility prepared me for the Adventure of Parenthood in six very specific ways:

1. The best laid plans…
When my husband and I first gave ourselves the green light to get pregnant it was because the “timing was right”. We lived in a great neighborhood, we were established in our careers and we had individually attended enough Margarita Parties to satisfy a lifetime quota of tequila. My hubby was quite a bit older than me, and we were both ready to settle down and do the family thing. We had no idea that this “thing” would take four years and that it didn’t matter how “ready” we were. Our bodies would cooperate in their own time.

Parenting App: How many times do parents plan out the perfect day, only to be foiled by a runny nose, sore throat or volcanic tantrum? When you’re a parent, it is wise to mark the calendar, make the plans, but be prepared to break them and go with the flow at a moment’s notice.

2. You’re surrounded.
Have you ever purchased a new car and suddenly you start noticing the same make and model everywhere you go? That is what it is like when you are trying to get pregnant. There are friggin’ babies everywhere. Women pregnant with babies. Men holding babies. Parents loving on their babies (with little angels and birdies surrounding them). It feels like the entire universe is sticking out its tongue and taunting, “Nah, nah, nah, nah… you aren’t pregnant.” Even your co-worker’s cousin’s wife is expecting… and you aren’t. I gradually learned to tune out the baby-white-noise, and reassure myself that it would happen in its own time. After all, I reminded myself, I am defined by much more than my desire to conceive.

Parenting App: After you have a little one, you will continue to find yourself surrounded by other parents and their cherubic babes. Resist the urge to make comparisons (i.e. whether your baby is snoozing, walking or talking at the same rate as the others). Every child’s journey is unique and the comparisons are fruitless. They all tend to catch up to each other in the end.

3. Everyone is an expert.
Most of the people who knew I was trying to get pregnant had well-intentioned words of wisdom to share. They had heard of a specialist who could help. They knew something I should cut out from my diet. They had struggled with infertility themselves and they just felt sure it was going to happen for me. I regretted telling so many people that we were trying. Can’t we just go back to discussing my awesome new wedges or the great movie we saw last weekend? I had to learn to take their advice gracefully and then remind myself that my body is unique and I know it better than anyone else.

Parenting App: If you think everyone has opinions about fertility, just wait until you have a baby. Have child in arms, and everyone loves to give their child-rearing advice. As Cheryl advises in Pimp My Self Care, absorb the pointers that feel like a fit and then custom design your own parenting protocols.

4. It’s never going to happen.
During the four years that my husband and I were trying, I swear that I funded an entire pregnancy test industry. I bought them in bulk and I grew to despise them. Peeing on a stick was unpleasant enough, but seeing that I was not pregnant, yet again, was devastating. I felt all hope and belief that I was going to be a mother slipping away. Looking back, I now recognize that the creeping pessimism was unfounded. There was so much more that my husband and I could have done to have a child: fertility treatments, surrogacy, adoption. Yes, I would have grieved if I couldn’t conceive naturally, but the options were endless if I truly wanted to be a parent.

Parenting App: When you are raising babies, the word “never” will sneak in frequently: I’ll never get a full night’s sleep again. He’ll never go a day without an accident. We’ll never get through a week without vomit or snot or pee. Those ‘nevers’ can feel daunting. I promise you that the nevers transition into sometimes and then into always. Keep your eye on the prize – it’s right around the corner.

5. Chill out.
OK, I have to skip back to #3 on this one. One of the most popular bits of advice I received when I was trying to conceive was, “Just relax. You’ll get pregnant when you aren’t worrying about it.” I hate to admit it (and I HATED this advice) but they were right. When I began enjoying my life again… dancing, frolicking, partying like it’s 1999, it happened. I saw those two lines on that little test and could hardly believe my eyes. Yes, I had taken other measures: cut out sugar and dairy, started natural progesterone cream, endured a diagnostic procedure that painfully blasted blue ink through my fallopian tubes. But I feel sure that chilling out a little and tuning into other segments of my life helped my body to ease into motherhood.

Parenting App: It is natural to feel uptight and want to do everything just right when you are a parent. When you loosen your grip and recognize that your children benefit from variety and imperfections, both you and your kids will enjoy life a little more.

6. Love, love, love…
I’m channeling the Beatles here. But I couldn’t have said it any better myself. At the end of any infertility journey is a leap from a high-dive platform into pure, unadulterated love. I have friends who have had unexpected pregnancies, friends who have undergone extensive fertility treatments, and friends who have ultimately adopted. And when we gather together with our kids, there is no sliver of a difference in the love that each of us feel for our children.

Worth the four year wait.

If your desire to become a parent is strong enough, you will find a way to make it happen. And when you do, you will feel the most unrelinquishing love (and sometimes unrelinquishing fatigue and frustration) that you have ever experienced in your life. Everyone’s path to parenthood is unique but in the end, you get to hold a beautiful child, and the journey that brought you to that place will make the most perfect sense.

Here’s to Margarita Parties and Love,

Kirsten

Anger Is A Gift :: Monday Musing

April 28, 2014 By: babyproofedparents2 Comments

Are you mad?

My beautiful friend, Jean, is an incredibly grounded acupuncturist. She believes that most women are not given a template for dealing with anger, if they’re able to consciously acknowledge they’re experiencing it in the first place. Our training, at times by our parents, and constantly by society is to be nurturing and supportive, avoiding the “b word” label at all costs. There’s no room in that scenario for being pissed off. I believe men are subject to this emotional sanction in a slightly different way. They’re not allowed to show weakness, which means there’s no space to cry or say, “I have no clue.” All of that hidden powerlessness has to manifest somehow, and can start an internal storm of anger so intense it becomes easier to numb out or disengage than to deal with it. I took in Jean’s words and asked her, “How do you process your own anger?” With a wry smile she replied, “Me? Ohhh, I don’t get angry!”

Kids are supposed to be out of control sometimes. Even when they master language and can have high-level conversations with you, it takes many until their 20’s to fully grasp how to moderate their emotions. (I’m still working on it at almost 40.) If you feel out of control and don’t know how to deal with it, and you’re in the presence of a child who is out of control (or is just being a kid), it can feel irresistible to come down way too hard on them, trying to control them instead of yourself. Have you ever seen an adult schooling a child in a public place, looking like a complete a-hole while the child just looks very small? This happens all the time, even to conscious, well-meaning parents.

The only person in my family of origin allowed to express intense feelings was my dad. The feeling he expressed most often was anger. He would repress for a while, and then blow a gasket about something trivial my siblings and I did or didn’t do, often when we least expected it. My therapist described this as “venting through your children.” She explained that my dad, like many adults, had a hard time understanding or dealing with his feelings, and things got built up inside. Eventually, a volcano erupted.

As a child, it never occurred to me to feel much of anything, let alone express it, because I was too busy avoiding wrath by being a perfect little girl and hiding. Eventually, the whole “not having feelings” thing stopped working, and I had to start coping with the build-up I’d spent my life running from. When I had babies, a whole new level of this work began.

When my daughter was two and my son was a few months old, they used to have what I referred to as “crying competitions.” It felt like they were trying to outdo each other. One would start to calm down a little, and the other would let out another wail, and then the first would start all over again – neither would let the other have the last word. I am laughing as I write this, but at the time, I was in hell. I would put one on each hip, and bounce through the house singing to them, trying to make them laugh, and finally, exhausted, I’d just sit on the floor and hold them while waiting it out. After a few rounds, I started noticing anger, very hot, rising up in me.

How soothing, right? Mom is holding us, but her jaw is clenched, her arms stiff. I knew they were just being normal, crying babies, but no amount of rational thinking could compete with the anger that was coming from my perceived inability to control the situation. I felt myself wanting to scream at them, but something made me put them down, my son in his bouncy seat, my daughter next to him on the rug. I walked out into the garage and shut the door behind me. I could still hear them crying, but I sensed they’d be safe for a few minutes. My eyes fell on the pile of stuff we were donating to charity. I don’t remember which toy I picked up, but I know it was pink, and when I threw it as hard as possible onto the garage floor, it shattered in the most satisfying way imaginable. Just to ensure its total destruction, I picked it up and threw it down again. Hard. Then, I took a deep breath, exhaled, and walked back into the house. I felt like a different person. Calm. I soothed them and got through the rest of day.

That wasn’t perfect, by any means. Before I walked out, I didn’t reassure them that I’d be back, and it wasn’t their fault. They probably heard the scary crashes. Breaking toys in my garage made me feel like a psychopath. Plus, what about the poor kid who would now be deprived of the joy of playing with whatever that pink thing was? Wasteful. But, I’d rather them feel a little scared or uncertain, hear a noise, and then have me come inside and soothe them from an authentically calm place. I’d rather explain that I was angry, and needed a moment alone to deal with it. I don’t want to scream at them, or hit them, or handle them roughly, or shame them. I really, really don’t want to vent out my emotional crap through my kids.

Another big rupture happened shortly after J and I went through our divorce. Turns out grief manifests in me as it does in many men: anger, anger, anger. I could feel a wave of it coming up, and was desperate to get my kids settled in front of the TV in our upstairs loft so I could take a break. They could feel the tension emanating from me, and reacted by whining and protesting. Shocking. Finally, I lost it and yelled, “Please just watch your show!!” Of course, that soothed them right away, and then, I held that powerful, “I’m an adult in complete control” stance as I lost my footing and slid down our wooden staircase on my ass. My finest parenting moment to date.

I wish I was telling you all of this while sitting under a tree in a lotus posture, totally zen, referring to these past, totally resolved issues. Nope. I still struggle with moderating my emotions. The good news is that I’ve learned a few ways to deal, minimizing the risk of negative impact on people around me. One is intense music. Most people feel anger reducing when listening to calm, soothing music, but sometimes the opposite is true for me. I make sure the kids are settled, pop in ear buds and turn it a little too loud. The sounds are slightly angrier than I feel. They envelope and hold me. A go-to track is “Burning Inside” by Ministry, in which a sound the domestic goddess in me has decided is a vacuum cleaner melts into insanely fast drumming and impending doom guitar. If I’m especially keyed up, I actually run the vacuum while listening. This serves to further calm me, and assuage some of the inherent guilt that accompanies anger, because hey, look at those floors! Planting my face into a pillow and screaming at the top of my lungs is amazing, and often makes me laugh at the melodrama of it. And of course, I know the donation pile is right there in the garage if I need it.

Brilliant psychotherapist Irvin Yalom writes about a female client who came to a session very distraught. She tearfully explained that the night before, she had gotten drunk, had a huge fight with her husband, and ended up throwing a lemon pie against the wall. The visual: lemon custard oozing down the wall, broken pie plate and crust all over the floor. Yalom said his instinct was to try and alleviate what he perceived was her guilt, reassuring her that it probably wasn’t so bad, to not be hard on herself, etc. Turns out, he had read her wrong. Her tears were grief over lost time. For the first time, she had finally expressed her true feelings, in an impossible to take back way. I repeat this story over and over, because it captures the essence of our right to messy emotions dead on.

One of my clients made my year when she emailed me this photo, and gave me permission to share. The title: “Look What I Did!”

Shaving cream pies. Brilliant, cathartic and safe, because you won’t be tempted to lick lemon off your fence, eliminating splinter risk.

These little people look to you for containment, and you recognize that at times you can’t contain yourself. And you step into another room, and throw a pie. Then you come back to them, and you continue trying. You own your humanity with them, and you are humble about your limitations. You soothe, repair, and clean the wall. You try hard to stop whatever cycles could continue through you and into them. And, perhaps most importantly, you show them how adults forgive themselves.

Disclaimer: I am in no way advocating senseless harm to innocent lemon pies, especially if they are gluten-free and topped with meringue. Limits, people.

Here’s To Sanity and Yalom,

Cheryl

Spill It :: Monday Musing

April 13, 2014 By: babyproofedparents1 Comment

When my daughter’s sleep disturbances first began, I didn’t realize she was in the early stages of colic, which has nothing to do with hunger. Like many parents, I found a way to blame myself, wrongly believing that I was not producing enough milk, hence, wrongly believing she was slowly starving. The nights of her crying non-stop were getting raw. I felt so much pressure from within and out to feed her breast milk exclusively, and had wedged myself into a corner. I stopped talking about it, because I was ashamed of the total lack of love I felt for breastfeeding. I’d believed it would be a blissful and bonding experience for us, like it is for most moms and babies. I didn’t know this had nothing to do with milk. I was losing my grip.

Enter my sister-in-law, Traci. She’s on the bad-ass list, and I was beyond ready for her visit. I’d planned to have everything sorted out by then, so she could just bond with her new niece, and we could sip decaf while wearing cute velour sweat pants and talking about how awesome it is to be a mom. The version of me she actually encountered? A total mess. I melted into her hug, and she said, “Sissie, talk to me.”

Loaded pause.

The reasons people struggle with vulnerability are endless. I’ll share my personal top three.

“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.” As a therapist, I am very adept at identifying what my clients are feeling, but my internal gauge is flawed. My family of origin had some great attributes, but one of our challenges was emotional repression. Feelings were not discussed or reflected. As an adult I have to work hard to identify what I’m feeling, let alone deal with it or describe it to others.
“I don’t want to burden anyone.” Part of repression comes from an irrational fear that the messiness of your feelings could actually harm someone (from negatively impacting their mood, to the extreme of actually physically injuring them). Not to mention the risk of judgement, my most feared version being that people will think I want pity. In her book, Daring Greatly, Brené Brown writes, “We can’t let ourselves be seen if we’re terrified by what people might think. Often, ‘not being good at vulnerability’ means that we’re damn good at shame.”
“Other people have it way worse.” This is true. When I listen to my clients and friends, I marvel at what they’ve had to overcome just to function, let alone open themselves to trusting me or anyone else. Rising to a global view, things can look horrific. My hypocrisy enters here, because I never comparatively quantify others’ feelings. I reserve all the judgement for myself.

I pushed through it all with Traci, because I felt I had no choice. Disclaimer: I might have dreamed this exchange, because I was sleep deprived. But, I like this version, so it will go down in the annals (Freud made me use that word) as truth. “I’m not okay I’m freaking out she won’t stop crying all night and I think it’s because I’m not producing enough milk and she’s starving and people keep saying I’ll feel it when my milk ‘lets down’ but I don’t feel shit and when I squeeze my boob nothing comes out should I show you? no? what if she starves?” I caught my breath, and Traci, in her beautiful, strong voice said, “Hey. Rita. It’s going to be okay.”

Why’d she call me Rita? That’s her pet name for when I get worked into a mash-up of excitement, anxiety and neurotic hyper-focus. She once accompanied me on a mission to buy a used silver Honda Accord. I tracked one down, and was told on the phone to meet with a salesperson named Rita. In this case, Excitement = a silver Accord…wheee! Anxiety = the last silver Accord on the planet will be sold out from under me. Neurotic Hyper-Focus = I must find Rita, immediately, and at all costs. When we entered the dealership, I walked, fast, up to the first four salespeople I encountered, one of whom was a man, thrusting my hand forward in a firm, “I’m no sucka” shake, exclaiming, “Hiiii, Rita! Are you Rita???” while Traci stood slightly behind me, shrugging her shoulders apologetically at each non-Rita, silently mouthing, “Meth.”

I cried out my fears, and she just sat with me. Then she picked up my daughter and said, “Look at her.” I did. I saw a round, vibrant face. Little rolls of fat on her legs. Sustained. Traci said, “Forest for the trees. She’s okay, and she’s going to be okay. We will figure this out, but she’s not starving. You are doing an amazing job.” Fear drained out of me, replaced by clear vision.

My friend Dennis is surviving cancer, and intimate with death. I take what he says seriously. His theory on pain and joy is that everyone gets numbered slices of each. The slices are utterly disproportionate across people and from my limited view, there’s no explanation. Certainly no justification. I only know that I feel the warmest and most purposeful when people share their pain and joy with me, I see myself in it, and I grow from the reflection. And when I share my pain and joy with them, and they are released to see and share their own more freely. The opposite of this warmth is alienation. I won’t dilute this: alienation kills.

Think you’re protecting yourself by hiding your real? You’re not. You’re likely too close to your situation to see clearly, your face pressed against a Seurat. Opening yourself to others’ light allows you out of the patterns trapping you in your corner. Think you’re protecting others? You’re not. You’re alienating them, depriving them of potential growth as they see themselves in you, feel closer to you, and naturally share their own real. If you have someone you already trust, lean into them. Take them to your crazy town, and air out your fears. If you feel you don’t have anyone, try building trust with a therapist. If you try and the therapist sucks or just isn’t the right fit, try someone else (I went to several before I found my Elaine). Just spill it. We need each other. It’s how we’re wired.

Here’s To Sanity and Rita,

Cheryl

I Can’t Put Them In A Bubble? :: Monday Musing

March 30, 2014 By: babyproofedparentscomment

My first baby caught his first cold at the age of ten months. I was devastated. I assumed that the breast-feeding, pureed veggies and good sleep would make my little one immune to all illness. I was wrong. When I schlepped my congested patient into our pediatrician’s office, she calmly explained that my son had to build up his immune system somehow, and that his inability to blow his nose would make the cold last longer. She was right. No matter how much I tried to siphon out the mass quantities of snot with the little-blue-bulb-sucker-thing (and no matter how many times he swatted the snot-sucker out of my hand) I could not speed that cold out of his system. It simply had to run its course.

Thus began a virtual marathon of viruses, bugs and infections. By the time Aidan was four years old, he had produced enough snot to fill a swimming pool. “I’ve just accepted that this is the way it’s going to be,” Cheryl often said in reference to her own children’s sniffles. I too worked on acceptance, worked on believing that illness is actually the most direct path to health.

Aidan did not limit his resilience building to the common cold. By the time he entered kindergarten, he had wedged a black bean up his nose, almost bitten right through his tongue, swallowed (and passed) a red plastic cherry from the Hi Ho Cherry-O board game, and somehow contracted a MRSA staph infection in his lymph gland (resulting in neck surgery and a scar that I’m pretty sure a future girlfriend will one day find manly). Our little guy was not only strengthening his immune system, he was testing out his infrastructure, and simultaneously testing his parents’ ability to roll with the punches.

None of these bumps and bruises prepared my husband and me for the health struggles that our second baby would encounter. Two weeks after Elliott was born, he was hospitalized and diagnosed with Posterior Urethral Valve, a congenital condition that affects the kidneys and bladder. Multiple hospitalizations and surgeries followed for our sweet little newborn and Aidan’s snottiness and stomach bugs suddenly paled in comparison. My ER doctor friend, Janna, reassured me that Elliott’s body had plenty of time to adapt and remodel. And she was right. Elliott’s body not only remodeled, it thrived. He developed into a healthy Christopher Robin-esque creature who currently towers over the other kindergartners in his classroom.

Despite my kids’ ability to divide and conquer their own health issues, I still find myself chasing them around with a metaphorical bubble wand. It is now the emotional pain that brings out my mama bear tendencies. The nurturing caretaker in me wants to protect my boys from all disappointment and hurt feelings. But the therapist in me knows that they have to experience some pain in order to develop the grit they’ll require later in life. So, I urge myself to sit back and let the squabbles, the bad school days and the crocodile tears work themselves out. In order to build up our kid’s strength, we have to allow them to suffer a little. I’m not sure if this suffering is worse for the kids or the parents. But I do know that if I gently support my kids as they work through their sniffles and scuffles, we will all come out a little healthier and a little tougher in the end.

Here’s to Strength, Sanity and Scars!

Kirsten

Who Am I To Judge? :: Sunday Sanity

March 15, 2014 By: babyproofedparentscomment

Confession time. Back in my pre-baby years, I was known to cringe and walk the other way when I heard a fussy baby in the grocery store. Why would anyone try to shop with a screaming child in tow? I silently questioned. Three years later, I knew the answer. I was now the parent who was anxiously rushing up and down the grocery aisles with my loudly protesting infant because we truly could not go another day without toilet paper. Or toothpaste. Or coffee.

Here’s another confession: I once scolded the “big kids” on the playscape when they were being WAY too loud and WAY too rough around my 18-month-old toddler. “Would you lower your screams to a dull roar, and chill out a little, please?” I protectively demanded, and then turned to glare at their parents who were consumed in cheerful chatter. Five years later, I was the mom who turned my “big boys” loose on the playscape, trusting that they would make “good” choices while I enjoyed a little quality time with my latté and iPhone.

When it comes to parenting, judgment can be a knee-jerk reaction. It’s easy to say, my pregnancy or delivery would never go that way. I would never parent like that. My child would never act that way. And when things go awry (which they tend to do) it is easy to redirect that shame and judgment toward ourselves. I am the only parent who is struggling with this. My child is behaving worse than everyone else’s. All of the other parents have their act together.

Here’s what I now believe: The majority of us parents are doing our absolute best. And in spite of these stellar efforts, we all screw up regularly and struggle with very similar challenges. As parents, we have more in common than not.

Some of the most loving, reassuring words a friend can say in response to my parenting woes are, “Oh, girlfriend, I have struggled with that same situation!” Relief and gratitude wash over me when I feel that instead of judgment, I am receiving understanding and empathy.

In light of this awareness, that we do oh-so-much better when we lift each other up, Cheryl and I have designated the BPP website to be a judgment-free zone. Why? Because between the two of us, we have survived a hell of a lot of parenting challenges. We can truly say, “We’ve been there and we’ve done that.” And if we haven’t, we know a close friend who has. Our births have gone exactly as planned and they have gone completely off-course. Our children have been as sweet as angels and…well…complete a-holes. For every parenting paradigm we’ve latched on to, we’ve hit an obstacle that’s turned our beliefs upside down. We are not in a place to judge, because we don’t want to be judged ourselves.

So, here is your pep talk in the locker room of parenthood: You are not alone on this journey. Regardless of your experiences with fertility, pregnancy or parenting, we are all on the same team. In fact, we’re stronger together than we are apart. When it comes to the act of child rearing, there is no shame in trying your best, floundering and regularly reaching out for help.

Now, when I encounter a screaming baby in the cereal aisle, or see kids playing a little too exhuberantly on the playground, I don’t immediately walk the other way with a look of dismay on my face. Instead, I smile knowingly, and go back to parenting my own kids in my whole-hearted, yet frequently imperfect way.

BPP Sanity Savers:

Identify areas in your own parenting that bring up feelings of guilt, fear or incompetence. Don’t be afraid to discuss them with other trusted, supportive parents.
As you move through your day, observing other parenting styles, see how the positive belief that “we’re on the same team” impacts your view.
Judgment is human and natural, but blocks our ability to have true compassion. Try to notice and soften your judgments of yourself and other parents.

Here’s to compassion and sanity,

Kirsten

Letting Go :: Sunday Sanity

February 15, 2014 By: babyproofedparents1 Comment

When I became pregnant with my first child, I had no clue that I was embarking on the most intense period of personal development I have ever experienced. Forget those self-help books I had filled my shelves with. My new baby became my guru, counselor and coach all wrapped up in one dimpled package.

Perhaps I should have guessed that major growth was coming my way when my acupuncturist shared some advice on giving birth. She explained that most women reach a point in their labor when they feel like they might just die if they have to endure any more pain. This is an important part of the labor, she reasoned, because a part of you IS dying. You are essentially being reborn as a mother, a parent. The mind-numbing pain serves as a signal to surrender completely to the labor, to let go of control and to give in to the natural process of life. My acupuncturist urged me to practice surrendering as I awaited the big day.

Gulp… How did she know that control was an issue for me? That I grew up in a chaotic, single-parent home, and that I learned to cope with the chaos by attempting to manipulate my environment, my appearance, my everything? “Surrender – Let Go,” became my silent mantra for the remainder of my pregnancy.

Predictably, my new theme song slipped my mind as I worked my way through the labor. But the significance of the event did not escape me; the natural birth of my son was an incredibly transformative experience. And afterward, I thought, Whew – hard part over!

Heh-heh. Little did I know that Aidan’s birth was only the beginning of my own “rebirth,” and that my new baby boy would unwittingly encourage me to give up control in the weeks and months to come.

It began two weeks after his arrival. Aidan wasn’t gaining weight, despite my zealous attempts to breast-feed him. Consequently, I had to swallow my pride… and seek some help. When he was four weeks old and developed baby acne, cradle cap and a splotchy rash, I confronted my own appearance-related insecurities. And when he was two and I had to lug him, bawling and flailing, out of the library when he wasn’t quite ready to leave, I let go of other people’s perceptions and judgments.

I let go of being on time, having stain-free clothing, getting a full night’s sleep, knowing all the answers…

I let go.

I realized that I was also surrendering and quietly letting down my walls. I surrendered to the jubilant hugs, slobbery kisses and uninhibited cuddling that only a little one can bestow. Surrendered to the most pure, unadulterated and unwavering love I have ever given or received in my life.

Naturally, this is an ongoing journey for me. I still battle with various control issues. I have two boys now, and catch myself pacing the house tense-shouldered, miffed that I am not in complete control of my hand-print covered, laundry-filled home. The tension usually signals me to breathe and start up my old chant, “Surrender – Let Go.” My sons seem determined to teach me this important life lesson, even if they have to spill 200 cups of sticky juice to get the message through. Stubborn like their mama, they’re going to break me of my control habit, regardless of what it takes!

BPP Sanity Savers

Your process of surrender can begin before your baby arrives. Have a plan and be prepared for your birth, but hold on as loosely as you can.
Identify the areas of your life in which you have a tightly-gripped, non-negotiable need for control. Try to think of small ways to relax in these areas, even if just in your mind.
Remember that the beautiful insanity of a new baby is short (even though difficult chapters can seem to take an eternity). Try to embrace the lack of control as much as you can.

Here’s to strength and sanity,

Kirsten

Are You Strong Enough? :: Sunday Sanity

February 1, 2014 By: babyproofedparents1 Comment

Yes. Yes. Yes.

My first pregnancy was blissful, until I developed a weird rash on the right side of my belly a week before my due date. At first I thought it was a spider bite, and went straight to a local walk-in clinic. The doc took one look and said, “Staph.” He prescribed one of the few antibiotics safe for pregnancy, and gave me a very stern talking to about the risks of my baby being exposed to the infection. I left my bliss in his office. All of my confidence drained out, replaced by fear. Visions of cuddling skin-to-skin with my sweet new born morphed into visions of protecting her from certain infection, switching soft blankets for a body condom… my anxiety went through the roof.

After a few days, the antibiotics didn’t diminish the rash, and I made an appointment with my dermatologist. I love her. She is smart, quirky and wears wicked-cool glasses. I lifted my shirt and dumped out my fears, which, as it turns out, had very little to do with the rash. My fears were about the gravity of what was about to happen to my body, to my marriage, to my identity, to my life. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t do this. She smiled at me, and looking me right in the eyes, said, “You are so strong. You’re going to be just fine.”

Sweet relief. I walked out of there with a diagnosis of contact dermatitis, a sample of cream that cleared it up completely, and a renewed sense of strength that can only come from the words of another strong woman who has been there. Her voice made all the difference.

I was unburdened. A few nights later, I gave birth to my daughter. Looking back, I am amazed at how penetrating these two experiences were. I saw myself as a force, and my standard motto for most things, including birth, was “bring it ON.” It startled me when the first doctor’s fear-based approach obliterated my confidence, and days later the simple words of encouragement from my dermatologist restored it completely. To be a parent, you have to be a bit insane, and a bit stable. And since you’re in a constant state of change and flux, you’re naturally more susceptible to the feedback around you. The messages you expose yourself to during your preparation for the arrival of a baby can make a huge difference in your ability to access your strength.

When I recall the moments in my life when I felt the strongest and most resourceful, it was at the births of my two children. Other things that feel challenging wither when I compare them to that power. That you are even contemplating taking on responsibility for a life means that you are innately strong and capable. Remember that no matter what your birth story winds up being or was, you made a person, you brought or are about to bring a person out into the world, or you’ve chosen to adopt a baby and add a sweet life to your family. Nothing can diminish this, absolutely nothing. You are strong. You can do this. And if you already did this, DAMN. You did this.

BPP Sanity Savers:

Be mindful of the way you talk to yourself while preparing for your baby. Be gentle and encouraging.
Surround yourself with positive friends and family members who bring out the best in you.
Remember that your strength transcends the arrival of your baby – it is always with you.

Here’s to Strength and Sanity,

Cheryl